


A Mirage in Chrome

by TheQueenSylveon



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenSylveon/pseuds/TheQueenSylveon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced to form an alliance with the rebel scavenger after an impromptu defecting, Phasma finds herself on Jakku, with more to complain about than simply the company she's keeping</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mirage in Chrome

It was a miracle she was still alive, though she was not so sure she wished to be. Were the sun not enough, its sweltering heat worsened by the heavy armour, the sand was a nightmare unto itself. It was coarse, rough, and irritating, and it got everywhere. It buried itself, grain by miserable grain, into every crack of her armour, scratching the polished surface of her boots and somehow finding its way into them. The feeling of her skin rubbing raw against it was nothing compared to hours of hardship in battle, and yet she found herself more agitated by the sand than any blaster wound or bloody knuckle.

Worse yet than the sand were the questions, as endless as the dunes of Jakku, and more annoying still than the sand festering in against her flesh.

“You keep stopping, are you sure you're alright?” the muffled voice sounded more concerned than agitated, calling up to her through the thick cloth over the girl's face. It bothered her, the girl seeming to fear for her. Coddling a soldier was unacceptable, a foolish error she refused to make, and yet the girl mocked her with it, daring to question her ability to hold her own, and she was no mere soldier.

“I will not answer you again, and my answer has not changed.” Phasma did not turn her head to look at the girl, but she knew she had stopped. It became even more clear when she, too, was jerked to a sudden halt.

Looking back, she found the girl had her arm, hand so small it did not wrap entirely around her wrist. Even with the goggles and mask she knew the girl was glaring, and it took all her self restraint to keep from laughing at the determined young thing. Without much trouble, she could have yanked her arm back and continued on, it was stupid of the girl to even try. Yet she was not fighting, had not pulled her arm back, not as she would have only days earlier. A careless show of trust, and she sneered to think it true.

“The next settlement we see, we're stopping.” it was a simple statement, and there was no chance for Phasma to resist. The hand at her wrist was gone, and the girl trudged on ahead through the sand, leaving her to follow, knowing she would.

-

Rey was exhausted, though not from the hours trekking through the desert. It had taken almost to midday to get to the small trade post, and even then she had not been given rest. The petulant ex-Captain of the First Order had made sure of that.

“You have to trust me.” grabbing once more for the shining boot, Rey struggled to hold the kicking leg down so as not to have the foot collide with her face. The woman it belonged to didn't make a sound, though she could hear her heavy breathing through the helmet. Probably sweating to death in it, and the girl shook her head, knowing Phasma would resist having that taken off far more than the boot.

Staring up at the armoured woman, Rey pushed her goggles back and pulled the cloth down from her mouth. Maybe, she thought, it would encourage her companion to show her face as well. It did something at least, the helmeted head turning slightly to one side. Regarding her, watching her, trying to find her motivation, knowing that there must be one. Phasma was a soldier, she knew that, and she was trained to find her enemies' weak spots and exploit them. Rey smiled warmly up at her, and finally eased the boot off.

“Was that really so hard?” Rey asked, tipping the metal plated boot out, almost cringing as she saw how much sand trickled to the ground from it. The woman seemed not to notice.

“I suggest you refrain from mocking me further.” said Phasma, still watching the girl's face with curiosity. The girl was an amusement at first, her stubborn behaviour and hardened attitude an odd match for her still soft and round face, and yet with time it had grown to suit her, Phasma noting with interest her persistence and bravery. A fine soldier she would make, yet she cared too deeply to be suited for mass battle.

The girl's voice pulled her from her thoughts. “I'm not mocking you. I'm glad you can trust me. You're going to have to now, the sand has scratched your skin almost raw and I need to get you out of that armour.”

“I am fine, scavenger.” Phasma recoiled a little from the touch at her ankle, but the girl persisted.

“No, you're not. Please let me help you.” Rey brushed the sand off the scratched and red foot, aware of how quickly the woman's muscles tensed at the touch. Though she made no noise of pain, Rey knew. “You aren't of any use fighting if you're hurt. Would you risk letting a blaster shot infect?”

There was a momentary pause, before Rey found herself suddenly cloaked in shadow. Phasma stood over her, the sun at her back and her armour glinting to near blinding in its light, and for the first time since their roughly formed alliance, she felt the fear she knew the woman could inspire tingle up her spine.

As Phasma reached up, time seemed to slow, and Rey found herself holding her breath, waiting and wondering with that childish curiosity just what could lurk beneath the helmet. A disfigurement, like Vader, maybe that was why she was so hesitant, or a scar that took up half her face, so gruesome it had to be hidden away from sight. At once Rey lost herself to the rapid imaginings of a child, about to reach the climax of a story, hoping it would turn out as they could only dream it would, and as the shining helm was lifted, she felt her excitement rise in a different way.

There was no disappointed deflation when she saw that Phasma was not disfigured or actually an alien beneath her armour, instead a new kind of intrigue that Rey could not place as anything in particular. The girl could only stare, lost to the sharp blue eyes and snarled lips, not noticing the scar across her cheek and nose. She was white as her troops' armour, and Rey could only wonder when the last time her skin saw sunlight was. She was a vision, a mirage drawn up from her wildest wanting, and Rey felt breathless, despite her ragged breathing.

So distracted was she, the removal of the remaining armour went unnoticed, and when finally her eyes were drawn from the stern and stoic face, she was surprised yet again. A smile pulled at her lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” the voice was jarring to Rey, far richer once untouched by the helmet, and though the woman still only glared at her, arms crossed over her chest and head tilted in that same uncertain curiosity, the girl was mystified.

“For trusting me.”


End file.
